Infection
by Jess J
Summary: She could not deny Kirigi, and part of her still didn’t want to. But she stared at him darkly, her hatred and twisted, dependant love now tinged with jealousy and resentment.


Author's note: After reading the novelization and recalling how easily Elektra seemed to recover from Typhoid's kiss in the movie, I decided to write this and then it got long and had a lot more in it than planned. Anyway, please review, hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own, so please do not sue.

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INFECTION

Typhoid watched him as he slept, his expression peaceful, serene, yet there was an edge. Even with his dangerous gaze hidden beneath closed eyelids, he still had an edge to him, something deadly about him, like a snake, coiled and seemingly resting, yet still ready to strike. She found it enticing and tempting, but she remained several feet away.

Her blood sang as she felt the call, and she let a shudder race down her spine. She wanted to stay where she was, wanted to watch her desire sleeping, but her addiction pulled at her, called for her, and she could not refuse him.

Staring at Tattoo for a long, drawn out moment, Typhoid reluctantly turned and strode away from the room. She was careful to keep silent so as not to wake the sleeping assassin, and she made certain her heels barely tapped the ground as she walked towards the room Kirigi had taken.

"You were watching him again," Kirigi stated calmly, though there was something in his voice, something taunting, mocking, telling her he knew she did it as often as she could, telling her he knew why. "Your secret longing reminds me of something my father told me hen I was a child," he all but whispered as Typhoid entered the room.

Kirigi was sitting in the bed of the man he had killed earlier, the one who helped the female assassin, the gaijin, Elektra. He was facing the window, his back to her, yet she could still see his eyes, cold and dark and full of mocking triumph. He no longer looked at her with a gentle approval or his dark want, but with taunting stares and cruel disgust.

Typhoid found herself drawn to him all the same though, and she walked around the bed so that she was at the far corner, her eyes looking into his as they stared straight ahead, focused and clear on the forest outside. She could not deny Kirigi, and part of her still didn't want to. But she stared at him darkly, her hatred and twisted, dependant love now tinged with jealousy and resentment.

"And just what did your beloved father tell you?" she asked, her voice filled with contempt. It was the first time she had spoken to him like this, but after what happened in the forest, she felt her hatred for Kirigi start to overrun her love for him.

Her master seemed to have been expecting her tone, and probably had been. He expected everything it seemed.

Except for whatever existed between herself and Tattoo. That had been unexpected, but in the end used for Kirigi's own entertainment.

After several moment, Kirigi finally blinked, and the blank expression on his face and in his eyes melted away to show his opinion of superiority to her, to everyone. He turned his head to face her, the edge of his mouth turning up ever so slightly to form the smallest of smiles.

Typhoid felt a shudder, unpleasant and unwelcome, run down her spine. She felt like an alley cat being cornered by the man fm the pound, with his trap nearing her neck, about to ensnaring it and pull her along to his truck, a prison. She almost hissed like that cat, but refrained and kept herself silent.

"We always want what we cannot have."

His words were simple and calm, whispered with that mocking tone from earlier. His eyes mocked her, taunted her, tempting her to hit him and kiss him, and for once, she truly wanted to kiss him until he breathed his last breath into her mouth. He slowly unfolded his legs and rose from the bed, walking up to her. He stared at her with his cruel eyes, filled with knowledge, with the knowledge that he knew everything. That he knew everything about her.

But Typhoid did not back down, did not back away. Her feet remained glued to the spot, and she did nothing, no movement other than breathing. She did not shift her weight or look down with shame and submission.

Kirigi cocked his head slightly, lifting his hands, almost touching either side of her head as he searched her thoughts deeply. He then recoiled, like he had earlier on the porch, and Typhoid let out a laugh this time, unable to hold it back.

"Your father knew you desired his position, then," Typhoid whispered cruelly. She had learned well from Kirigi - she had learned how to be calm, confident, cold, cruel. She had learned too well in Kirigi's eyes, perhaps. "But look at us now. We're on an assignment that could get you your precious position, and your father's death," she continued, her voice mocking now.

Tattoo had been hurt earlier. She had seen to it he had rested, had slept. He hid it well, and he had more resistance to it now, but when his animals were hurt, it caused slight pain to him. He had let out soft sounds of pain as they had returned to McCabe's home.

Typhoid had watched him as he fell asleep and forgot the pain, but she had stored away the noises he had made, the winces, flinches, shudders, everything. She had treasured them, and they had fueled her dark lust for pain.

And now, as he lie sleeping peacefully while she remembered his pain, she wanted to inflict that pain into Kirigi as best she could. She felt vengeful, spiteful. She wanted Tattoo, but belonged to Kirigi, and her master would not let go of her even when he desired another to take in and train and twist. She and Tattoo were all that was left, and Tattoo had suffered pain.

Simply because of Kirigi and his father, of their personal war, of The Hand, of the Treasure.

"Stone and Kinkou are dead, Kirigi. And you care not. Tattoo was hurt today. And you care not. You lost me today. Does that even cause you to care?" she asked, her voice soft, deceptively innocent in its questioning.

Kirigi's expression became one of confusion, his confidence lost to puzzlement at her words, and another soft laugh escaped her as she smiled up at him sleepily.

"I loved you. I still do, as much as a junkie loves the drug that put them in their constant state of pain. It is a dependency," she admitted, but her smile did not leave her. "But I do not care for you, about you. You could die, and I would mourn the loss of my drug. I would relish the freedom of my loyalty."

Her master's eyes darkened and narrowed to slits, but he remained silent and stepped away from her. "Your thoughts are always so hideous," he whispered back. "Filled with death. And that is all you can ever offer," he hissed, giving her a painful reminded that even if she should ever be free of him, she would never be free of her curse, her gift.

"And he loves the pain," Typhoid replied, her voice not even loud enough to be called a whisper. "I am the one who refuses to give it to him, I am the one who refuses him."

"Wise move, on your part, Typhoid," Kirigi stated coldly. "It would be a shame for you to lose someone you 'care' about, after all."

Typhoid looked up at Kirigi, her expression dreamy, sleepy. She often appeared that way, as if half asleep. It was when she let her disease take some of her energy, so that it grew in strength for a brief period of time. She tilted her head up, as if expecting a kiss that would never come. But then she opened her mouth, letting out her breath - Death's Breath.

Kirigi had not expected that, either. He had not expected his one time treasure to let out her poison on him. He tried not to breath in, but he was unsuccessful and he coughed as his skin grew cold and pale gray. He glared at her, though not with hate - with contempt and with disinterest.

"I will be with Tattoo. Let us know when it is time to go and hunt down the female assassin and the little, 'Treasure'," Typhoid said softly, the word "treasure" spat out like it was a bad taste in her deadly, lovely mouth.

Leaving Kirigi to rest and let his body heal from the slight infection she had given him, Typhoid strode back to the room Tattoo was sleeping in. She entered almost silently, seeing the last remaining member of Kirigi's team besides her sitting on the end of his bed.

His back was rigid, his face to the wall, his eyes closed. He heard her enter, and immediately his eyes opened and he turned towards her. His ethereal eyes flickered with different emotions, all different from those she had seen in Kirigi's dark gaze.

"You infected him," he stated softly, though there was a slight question in his tone. He was never as certain as Kirigi when it came to her. He was never anything like Kirigi when it came to her.

"He infected me," she replied softly, watching Tattoo as he stood, walking up to her.

Tattoo remained silent as he came up close, as close as Kirigi had been. His hands remained at his side, but his eyes stared into hers. That was all he had to do. He could read her without the aid of kimaguare. He could read her too easily sometimes.

"He still owns you," he finally stated after a moment, and Typhoid flinched visibly at the pain in his voice. That one pain she did not relish, did not want to inflict. That one pain she despised and never wanted to hear or see.

"Until he dies, he owns me," she told Tattoo regretfully, lowering her gaze. "He owns both of us."

Tattoo continued to stare down at her, and for a moment, he seemed to go cold, and Typhoid feared she had lost him as Kirigi had lost her. But then he was hot and burning, scorching her cold death. His pale eyes, blue and icy, suddenly grew heated, and he was leaning down.

Her instinct was to recoil, to run, to protect him from herself. But she wanted to stay, and she could stop herself. She knew when to stop.

The instant his mouth touched hers, she realized her mistake. Neither of them would known when to stop. They had barely been able to the first and last time this had happened. But now, now it was even worse. Even as the poison spread through Tattoo's just healed body, he clung to her, gripping her as if he wanted death to take him quicker.

And she couldn't stop him, couldn't stop herself. She kissed back, her fingers sliding up over his tattooed torso and chest, spreading more of her infection through him. She wanted to stop her poison, wanted to control it, pull it all back out of him and into herself, but she didn't want to stop herself. She didn't want to stop this, the bittersweet taste delighting her in ways Kirigi would never be able to.

Finally weakening to the point where any more would kill him, Tattoo sagged against her, the moan escaping him one of pain - of the pain of having to stop more than the pain she was pumping into him.

Typhoid all but yanked away, her eyes wide with guilt and fear and she cradled Tattoo as he collapsed, half conscious. She carefully helped him back to the bed, lying him down with letting her bare skin touch him.

"You just healed," she whispered, looking down at him, feeling that pain she so often saw in his eyes. Such bitter anguish it was.

"And I will heal again," he assured her, keeping himself awake. His eyes were icy once more, and clouded as well, the pupils dilated. But he kept them focused on her, his face a mask of indifference. He stared at her a moment longer, then closed his eyes.

"The infection will be gone in time for the next mission," Typhoid assured Tattoo as he rested. "It will be a couple of days before we will be able to attack again."

Tattoo's eyes opened once more, and his expression became haunted, bittersweet, pained. "Our infections will never heal."


End file.
